Novels by Athisarae

The world returned to Eleanor not all at once, but in muted, disorienting fragments. A sterile white ceiling. The faint, rhythmic beep of a machine. The unfamiliar weight of a soft, heavy blanket. She’s not in their estate.Eleanor sat up. Her movements were slow and groggy. The room was a serene, minimalist bedroom suite, decorated in calming shades of grey and white. An IV was taped neatly to the back of her hand.The door opened, and Alistair Chen walked in. He was not dressed in his usual sharp suit, but in a simple black sweater and dark trousers. He carried a single glass of water.“Where am I?” Eleanor’s voice was a dry, unused rasp.“A private medical facility of mine,” Alistair answered, his tone calm and even. He placed the glass of water on the bedside table. “You collapsed. Your father was… distraught. He called me. I thought it best to bring you somewhere secure. Somewhere quiet and away from the media.”“My father,” Eleanor said, the memory returning in a rush of shame.

The days that followed the funeral bled into a grey, timeless haze. Eleanor barely left the Valemont estate, but their house felt no longer like a home. The security reports from Arthur Vance were spread across the vast mahogany table. Accident reconstruction diagrams, chemical analysis of the brake fluid, traffic camera footage from the Palisades Parkway. It was a labyrinth of cold, hard facts that led nowhere.If Cecilia’s death was a murder, it was a perfect crime and the suspect left no traces of himself.“Anything?” Leon would ask, appearing in the doorway each morning, a shadow of his former self.“Nothing,” Eleanor would reply, not looking up from the screen.Leon was a hollowed-out man. He would sit for hours in his study, staring at the photograph of Cecilia. Eleanor saw his pain, and it felt like a debt she could never repay. She pushed him away, his sorrow a reminder of a weakness she could no longer tolerate in herself, or in him.“We need to focus,” she told Leon once. “

A cold, grey sky hung over the prestigious cemetery. The manicured lawns were unnaturally green. The funeral was filled with cries and prayers.Eleanor stood beside her father with a black veil covering her face, but there were no tears to hide. She felt nothing but a vast, hollow emptiness.She watched the faces in the crowd. Board members from Valemont Industries had expressions that were carefully somber. Society figures who had whispered about her mother in private now offered condolences in public. The words were meaningless noise. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” “She was a wonderful woman.”Her father was a hollowed-out man. The king of industry was gone, replaced by a ghost in a perfectly tailored suit. He moved and spoke, but his eyes were vacant, fixed on the polished mahogany casket that held the center of his world. Eleanor watched him and felt the final, crushing weight of her failure. This was the man she had broken.A sleek, black sedan suddenly pulled up silently behin

Leon sat beside the driver. His face was a stone mask as he barked orders into his phone. He seemed like war general, but his army was scattered, and the enemy was an invisible ghost. Eleanor sat in the back, the sleek leather of the seat was cold against her skin. She stared out at the passing city, but all she saw was her mother’s pale, shocked face from the day before.“We have a trace on her car’s GPS,” Leon said, his voice clipped, hanging up another call. “She’s heading north on the Palisades Parkway… and she’s very fast.”“Find her,” Eleanor said with a low, urgent whisper to no one in particular. “Just please… find her.”The air was thick with the suffocating weight of what they all knew but dared not say. Fleeing the humiliation, the accusations, the unbearable pressure of a life that had suddenly become a public cage.At the same time, in the stark, minimalist office high above the city, Simone Rothschild poured himself a glass of whiskey. A live news feed played on the mas

The scent of old leather and woodsmoke was overpowered by the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic from the doctor’s bag. Leon paced in front of the cold fireplace of their home. His movements were tight and controlled. Leon seemed like a caged lion radiating a furious energy that made the room feel small.“She’s resting,” Dr. Evans said, closing the door to the room where they had moved Cecilia. “The shock triggered a severe autoimmune response. Her blood pressure is dangerously high. I’ve given her a sedative, but she needs absolute peace of mind. Any more stress like this…” He left the threat unspoken, but his grim expression said enough.Marcus stood by the window with a pale face. “The story has been picked up by every major outlet. The narrative they’re pushing is insidious. The board members are calling. Our primary investors are demanding a statement.”“Then we give them one,” Eleanor said. She stood at the head of the table, her voice a blade of cold, strategic calm. Her shock

The flight from Shanghai felt longer than it was supposed to be. Eleanor sat in the first-class cabin with the preliminary agreement from Sentinel Group secured in her briefcase. It was a monumental victory, a document that secured the future of her company. But it did not feel like a win.Her mind replayed the confrontation outside the hotel. Lucian’s stone-faced mask. The triumphant look in Jane’s eyes. The car pulled up the long driveway of the Valemont estate. The house stood against the night sky.The heavy oak door swung open. Leon stood in the foyer, the severe lines of his face softened by an unguarded look of pride.“You’re home,” he said, his voice thick with a rare emotion. He took the briefcase from her hand. “You did it, Eleanor. You actually did it.”Cecilia appeared behind him and rushed forward, pulling Eleanor into a tight embrace. “Oh, darling, we were so worried. When we heard Lucian was there…” She trailed off, stroking her daughter's hair. “Are you alright?”The